


Shifting

by chocolateandnerves



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Learning to Drive, M/M, fuck i don't know they laugh a lot and it's just cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:14:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chocolateandnerves/pseuds/chocolateandnerves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are few things that stump Marco Bodt. <br/>Manual vehicles are one of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shifting

**Author's Note:**

> Because aa mentioned something in The Pear Tree about Marco not being a very good manual driver.   
> You planted the seed. So here it is.

I literally have no clue what I’m doing.

There’s a harsh grinding sound from the engine of Jean’s Jeep as I try to shove the gearshift forward and to the left, where first gear is supposed to be. All I’m getting is this terrifying ripping of metal, like the car wants to eat me.

“Don’t force it.” His patience is incredible right now. There’s only the slightest frustration at the corners of his eyes, but he’s trying so hard.

“I’m not trying to, it just won’t go.” I huff out a frustrated sigh and let the stick resume it’s natural position in neutral.

“Is the clutch all the way to the floor?”

It’s not. “Yes.” My left foot is on the pedal farthest to the left and I push it harder into the rusty floor. Three is entirely too many pedals for one vehicle.

“Alright, try it again,” he says, gesturing slightly to the gearshift in encouragement.

My right hand rests on it gingerly, like I might shatter it. I check to make sure the clutch is on the floor before I move into first gear. It slips up and to the left like it was made to be there, which, gee, I guess it was. So much for being smarter than I look.

“Okay, that’s first gear. You’re gonna lift up off the clutch slowly and press the accelerator at the same time to move.” My left hand tightly grips the steering wheel and I carefully peer at him out of the corner of my eye. “You’ll feel the gear catch in the clutch about mid-way up.” I’m not really following any of this. Apparently my expression gets the sentiment across. He sighs. “Just…just try it. You’ll see what I mean.”

I lift my left foot off the clutch carefully and sure enough, about halfway up, the Jeep lurches forward and shudders as it dies, and my heart nearly leaps out of my throat.

“Ohmygod.”

“Dude, it’s okay, you just killed it. Start it back up and try again.” I stare at him. I _killed_ it? You expect me to _start it again?_ He levels a look at me and says, “Look, you can’t hurt it. Thing’s sturdy. It could go through hell and back and still come back in one piece.”

“Are you completely sure I’m not going to cause irreparable damage?” The unhealthy way the frame shakes as I start the engine back up is making me doubt the stability of this vehicle, hell or no. “I just don’t want you to be without a car, and I’ll feel really terrible if I break it and it’s something really important, it could be expensive or something, I don’t—”

“Marco.” I glance over. The look he’s giving me says I’m being a big whiny baby and his patience is wearing thin. I chew on the side of my tongue. “Try again.” His hard tone is enough to refocus my efforts.

I bite the inside of my bottom lip, hoping to god I don’t break his Jeep. “You need to hit the gas at the same time as you let go of the clutch,” he reiterates. “Before the gear catches like that again.”

I nod. The clutch is making my ankle sore from holding it so hard to the ground, but I’m honestly afraid to let it go now. I experimentally rev the engine. It roars loudly for a moment and I’m glad there doesn’t seem to be any damage that can be heard. I start to let the clutch slip slowly upward, trying to keep a steady pressure on the gas pedal. It sounds ridiculous, going this slowly, but the gear suddenly catches again and there’s a dip in the sound as the car lurches forward and begins to roll along the nearly empty lot.

“Holy shit!” I curse in surprise. “I did it!”

“There ya go, see?” Jean’s voice sounds like he’s beaming. I can’t see his face because I’m way too preoccupied with making sure I can see where I’m going instead. I really don’t wanna hit the _only_ other car in the parking lot.

Trying to go slowly is difficult, and the car slows abruptly when I let off the gas, momentum yanking both Jean and I forward. My nose almost slams into the steering wheel.

“Just keep your foot on the gas. Do a couple laps around the lot,” he encourages. I do, managing to avoid the parked car. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek and try to focus.

Around the third lap around the lot, Jean shifts to look at me. “Okay, you hear how the engine sounds really high-pitched right now?” I listen. It does sound kind of whiny.

“Yeah, kind of strained?”

“Means you need to shift up.” I mean, clearly I knew this was coming, but I don’t think I’m prepared to do all of this while also trying to navigate a large vehicle in traffic. I don’t know how he does it. “That means your hand—” He grabs my right wrist and pulls it between the seats. “—needs to be on the gearshift.” Unthinkingly, I let off the gas to slow down and concentrate, and we pitch forward again. “Clutch! Clutch, clutch.” My foot slams the pedal to the floor. The car rolls a bit and comes to a stop.

“I don’t know about this, do I really need to know how to drive a stick?” I look over at Jean and I can feel my shoulders quivering just a bit. I’m so tense. When I was 16, my dad attempted to teach me how to drive manual, but every time I got in the car with him, I’d turn into a shivering mess. I wound up learning to drive with my mom in her little automatic Sunfire.

“Oh no. Fuck no, you are not backing out of this halfway through, Bodt.” He pauses and I huff. “Besides, what if something happens while we’re in my car and I can’t drive for whatever reason? Just wanna be shit outta luck?” Fair point.

“No, I guess not.”

“Then you’re gonna shift into second this time. It’s fine, I’ll help you.” He puts his hand on top of mine on the stick. His fingers are calloused and warm, and the tension in my hand seeps out, leaving calm in its place. Jesus, I must have it bad if just his touch is this soothing. “Alright, same as last time. Clutch and gas.”

I get the Jeep moving a little more easily this time. We start rolling along and the engine whines as Jean says, “Push the clutch in and let off the gas.” As soon as my foot touches the floor, I feel his hand tense on mine, pulling the gearshift straight backwards. His grip is firm and steady. “And…clutch out.” I let go of the clutch and the Jeep jumps as it catches second gear. “Marco, you have to keep your foot on the gas.”

“O-oh. Oh jeez.” I splutter a little as I press on the accelerator. The car moves a little bit faster now, getting up to about 30 mph before it starts whining again. I peek over at Jean out of the corner of my eye. He flashes me a wicked grin.

“Feel like trying third?” I open my mouth to protest and insist on more practice, but before a syllable leaves my lips, Jean is gleefully shouting, “Clutch!” I automatically shove the pedal down and he moves the stick into third gear. I let out the clutch again, and the engine drops in pitch.

My left hand is clamped on the steering wheel so hard my knuckles hurt. Jean is cackling like a hyena in the passenger seat, his hand still resting gently on mine.

“You—you look like you might keel over any second, man,” he laughs. “Your eyes are big as dinner plates, I swear.”

“I’m going to be _fairly_ shocked if you surprise me like that, Jean!” I’m still driving, so turning to glare at him is probably inadvisable, but I do anyway, glowering in his general direction for half a second.

“Okay, okay. Party pooper. Hear how the engine is kinda dragging now? Bogged down?”

“Yeah?”

“That means you need to shift down now. Get the difference?”

“Think so…” It’s all starting to kind of come together in my mind now. Whining, shift up, bogging, shift down. Clutch in, off gas, shift, clutch out, accelerate.

“Okay, it’s up to you now, Bodt. Our lives are in your hands.” His hand leaves the gearshift. I tighten my grip on it. My palms are a little sweaty. “Shift back down into second.”

Clutch in. Foot off gas. Move stick back into second. Clutch out, foot on gas. The Jeep jumps slightly as the gear engages, but it keeps rolling.

Oh my gosh. I can drive stick.

“Park it somewhere, you’re doing great. Shift it down into first when you stop.” Jean’s voice is gentle and reassuring, loosening the muscles in my shoulders and relaxing my grip on the stick and the steering wheel.

I follow his directions, shifting down into first as I pull into the spot.

“I did it. I did it! Oh my gosh, I can actually drive manual now!” I drum my fingers on the wheel, tapping out a quick rhythm. Jean chuckles at my exuberant display. In my excitement, I forget what exactly the clutch is doing under my foot—when I pick up my feet to stomp on the floor, I’m forcefully and abruptly reminded.

The car pitches forward, I slap my hands on the wheel, and it dies with a hiss.

“…oops.”

It’s Jean that starts busting a gut, but it’s infectious and a giggle bubbles it’s way up from my stomach, blossoming into full-on hysteria within seconds.

And that’s how Jean and I wound up sitting in his Jeep at three in the afternoon, laughing our asses off at basically nothing.


End file.
